I am who I always am. I am myself. I am here, again, here on my journey. It begins and ends this way. Someday it will not begin again. Someday it will not end again. Not today.
I reflect on my life as I must, sorting through things done well and things not, and things not at all. Deeds of valor and of fear, of strength and weakness, love and hatred. All the deeds of my life parade before me. Undone deeds mock me. Deeds undone mock me more.
The Wheel of the World turns. It widens as It turns, gathering up speed and urgency, filling with life and love, death and sorrow. It fills until It fails, and collapses again, falling into Itself like a gyre. It turns, the Wheel of the World, and we turn with It. Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity….
Apple blossoms. I smell apples blossoms.